


Goodbye George

by merc_cook



Category: Inspector George Gently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merc_cook/pseuds/merc_cook
Summary: An alternate ending to the last ever episode of Inspector George Gently.





	Goodbye George

**Author's Note:**

> This alternate ending picks up from the meeting between Gently, Bacchus and Rachel in the woods.

“So what are you saying, John?” Gently asked, “We should bury this and walk away?”  
“No, no.” Rachel and Bacchus chorused together.  
“Sir, no.” Bacchus said.  
“No.” Rachel echoed. ““We've got the killer of Mark Hogg.” She went on, holding out the photo she’d brought with her from the station, “He's the only man at the crime scene that we can't account for.”  
“Look,” Bacchus said, taking the photo from her; not noticing the dark expression that had come over Gently’s face on seeing the photo. “This is just some bloke, Rachel. We can't prove that he killed Mark Hogg. We don't even know his name…”  
“Alan Croxley.” Gently interrupted. Rachel looked up, stunned. “Ex-Special Forces.” Gently continued, “And, my guess, MI5.”  
“You know him?” Rachel asked. Gently looked at her; sadness in his eyes.  
“It's a long story, Rachel.” He said. There was a pause. Gently raised the document and dropped it again as if struggling to believe what he had just heard.  
“So, what do we do, sir?” Bacchus asked. Gently looked at him, seemingly surprised by the question.  
“Well, you two just go on doing your jobs.” He said, matter-of-factly. “And,” he added, indicating the document he still had clutched in his hand, “you forget about this. You know nothing, you saw nothing.”  
“And what about that, sir?” Bacchus added, clearly not happy with the way things were going.  
“Well,” Gently said, slowly, “A week from now, I'll be gone anyway.”  
“No,” Bacchus said, shaking his head, “Come on, sir.”  
“Sir.” Rachel pleaded.  
“Look. No.” Bacchus continued, attempting to reason with his governor, “You've proved your point. All right? What else can you do? Just walk away.” Gently seemed to be biting back the comment he wanted to make. “You can't win, sir.” Bacchus went on, “They are going to build the airbase. They'll take down Clements. Just, just leave it. Please.” He added, “For once. Just walk away. Take your retirement, sir.” Gently nodded, as if unsurprised by Bacchus’s response.  
“Retirement, eh?” he said, almost laughing.  
“Tell him, Rachel.” Bacchus said to the young sergeant as Gently turned away. “He'll listen to you - tell him.”  
“Sir,” Rachel began, “Please, just…”  
“I mean it, Rachel.” Gently said, sternly, turning back to her, “You saw nothing, you know nothing. And one more thing.” He turned to Bacchus. “Are you organising a do for my retirement?” Bacchus was nonplussed. He glanced to Rachel in bewilderment.  
“Do you want a do?”  
“Yeah.” Gently said, as if this was obvious. Rachel looked smugly at Bacchus.  
“Right.” Bacchus replied, still bemused. He paused, shifting from foot to foot. “I'll book the upstairs room at The Old Straw House, if you want.”  
“Oh,” Gently said, rising his eyebrows in mock gratitude, “Oh, thanks, John. I appreciate that.” Bacchus shrugged.  
“Right.”  
“Yeah.” Gently moved back towards his car. Rachel’s face fell as she realised the moment was over. Bacchus looked at her – as if expecting her to come with some miraculous solution to the situation. She gazed helplessly back at him and then turned to watch Gently go. As he opened his car door, Gently glanced up at them. “Cheer up.” He said, blankly. Then he smiled, “It's not the end of the world.” Neither of them said a word - Bacchus appeared defeated, Rachel desolate as Gently started up his car and headed past them off into the woods. They stood and watched as Gently’s car disappeared slowly into the distance.  
“So what do we do?” Rachel asked. Bacchus paused - momentarily stumped – and then the answer came to him.  
“Like he said.” He turned to her, “We do our jobs.” He took the photo of the crowd Rachel had shown to Gently and stared at it. “Alan Croxley.” He said, as he set off towards his car.

Back at the station both of them were hard at work. Bacchus was on the phone while Rachel consulted a map with various positions marked on it. She paused.  
“What are we going to do about Mr Gently?” She asked, turning to Bacchus. “You do know he’s gone off to try and sort this out his own way – whatever that means.” Bacchus didn’t reply – he did know. But he was saved from having to answer by Taylor coming in to report that he’d sent men round to the address they’d given him for Croxley only to find he wasn’t there.  
“The landlady says he hasn’t been there for several days, sir.” Taylor finished. Rachel looked anxiously across at Bacchus whose head had fallen into his hands in frustration.  
“So now what are we going to do?” she said, “We’ve got an armed killer on the loose, Mr Gently off on some harebrained mission and no idea where he’ll be or how we find either of them...”  
“I know all that, Rachel.” Bacchus retorted, getting up, “Shut up for a minute.” Rachel fell silent. Bacchus moved around in front of his desk and leant back against it; his fingertips pressed against his lips – deep in thought. “Now,” he continued, “If Croxley’s out to torpedo Clements, then he won’t be letting him out of his sight.”  
“So,” Rachel said, picking up on where Bacchus was heading with his reasoning, “we find Clements…”  
“We find Croxley.” Bacchus finished picking up the phone receiver. “Get me Adele Watson.”

Michael Clements stood on the dunes looking out across the shore. From behind him he heard a voice.  
“Michael.” He turned to see Inspector Gently approaching. “Adele said I'd find you here.” Clements waited for him to reach him. Then,  
“What's happening, George?” Clements asked, Gently turned to look at him, “Did you kill the man who killed your wife?” Gently looked straight ahead.  
“No.” He replied, almost through gritted teeth. Then he glanced back at Clements. “You didn't kill Lesley Pierce. I know that now. I had to be sure.”  
“And our deal?” Clements went on, not taking his eyes of Gently for a moment, “One week's grace?” Gently sighed.  
“You don't have a week, Michael” he said, “You don't have anything.” He glanced at the politician. “They want this site as an airbase. For the Americans.” Clements let out an angry, frustrated noise. “Yeah.” Gently went on, “That's why they were using me to bring you down. Because what the Americans want from us, they get.”  
“And what about what the people want, George?” Clements said. Gently let out a derisive sound. Clements went on unperturbed, “Working people, honest people - who pay their taxes and vote?” Gently hesitated before he said his next line.  
“Well, they don't really count, do they?” he said, eventually. “Not really. Not to them.” He turned his attention back to Clements. “You,” he pointed at him, “bribed a serving police officer.” Clements seemed annoyed at Gently bringing it up. “That's not going to go away.” Gently said, “Your political career is over. But the fight needn't be.” He went on, his expression hardened and his gaze directed squarely at Clements. He turned to gesture to the landscape, “You could expose the whole plot.” He said, “People will listen to you, Michael.”  
“Not without proof.” Gently smiled.  
“The proof is on its way to your office.” He said, “But it's not about proof and bits of paper, is it? It's about,” Gently gripped the air to emphasise his point, “principles and values and everything that we fought the war for and tried to do when we came back.” Now his voice was almost breaking with emotion. “You might not win,” he continued, “they'll outflank you, they'll try to… poison your name, they'll spread rumours about you. And that's why,” he pointed to Clements again, “you have to keep fighting.” He paused. “‘Cause what else is there, Michael?” he asked. “What else is there?” Clements nodded in understanding.  
“And will you be there, George?” He said, eventually, “Watching my back?” Gently paused as he thought about how to answer this and then smiled.  
“One way or another.” He replied, cryptically. Clements nodded again. He hesitated.  
“I'll see you in the future.” He said, holding out his hand to Gently who took it. “George Gently.”  
Clements turned away and headed slowly down the dunes away from the beach. He glanced momentarily back up at the detective before continuing on his way. Gently watched him go before turning and heading towards the shoreline.

Bacchus’ car skidded onto the beach and both he and Rachel leapt from the vehicle and began scanning their surroundings for any sign of Clements or Croxley.  
“Where is he?” Rachel wailed.  
“I can’t see them.” Bacchus said, his eyes frantically searching around him, “I can’t see any of them.” Suddenly Rachel spotted a flash of brown fabric hidden amongst the grass on the top of one of the dunes.  
“There!” she said, grabbing Bacchus’ arm and pulling him towards her so he could see from her angle. She pointed towards the figure she now saw was lying across the top of the dune, facing towards the sea. Bacchus looked and his face blanched as he realised the figure Rachel had spotted was holding a gun. He followed the line of sight of the weapon and to his horror saw that it was pointed directly at a distant figure on the beach who Bacchus recognised instantly as Inspector George Gently.  
“Oh my God.” He said to himself and he set off silently towards the dune; not knowing what he could do but only knowing he had to do something. Rachel pulled her radio from her pocket and whispered hurriedly for back-up to join them as she followed close behind.

Croxley lay with his body flat against the dune; one eye shut, the other looking directly along the barrel of his rifle. It was a shame the old man had to die, but then he didn’t make the rules – his employers did and they wanted Gently gone. In a way Croxley almost saw it as poetic justice – at least Gently would be reunited with that precious wife of his. He lined the rifle up with the receding figure on the beach and readied himself for the shot. He took a deep steadying breath. His finger tightened around the trigger and, in that instant, Bacchus jumped.

The bullet flew past Gently’s right shoulder and burrowed into the sand sending silt everywhere. Gently instinctively threw his hands up to protect his face and whirled round to see Bacchus grappling with his would-be assassin. After a moment’s stunned silence, he hurried to assist him.

By the time he reached them, Bacchus had Croxley in a headlock and Rachel had her knee into the small of his back pinning him down while fighting desperately to wrest both arms behind him to cuff him as Croxley struggled wildly. Gently paused when he realised he wasn’t needed  
“You got this, John?” he asked.  
“Yeah.” Bacchus replied, “I’ve got this.” Rachel finally snapped on the cuffs and Gently waited for them to pull Croxley to his feet. Finally, with an exclamation of “Come on, you!” from Bacchus, the prisoner was pulled upright; Rachel picking up the rifle that had been knocked from Croxley’s hands in Bacchus’s attack.  
Gently glared at the man stood in front of him – a feeling of victory filling his chest. He had got him – the man who had hurt him so much, the man who had cost him so much; the man who had taken Isabella from him. And whereas before – on their previous encounter – it had been Croxley who had had the upper hand, now it was Gently’s turn to stare triumphantly at the man who was now at his mercy. Both of them stood silently – each steadfastly keeping the other’s gaze as Bacchus read Croxley his rights. Gently bore the expression of a man who knows he’s finally won and Croxley that of man who knows he’s been beaten. When Croxley made no sound even to acknowledge he had heard Bacchus he was simply pulled away towards the waiting police van that had responded to Rachel’s summons. Gently watched them go with a heavy sigh of relief. This was right - this was good. This was the way it should be. Finally Croxley would get what he deserved. Finally justice would be done for his beloved Isabella. A dishevelled Bacchus glanced up at him; his expression conveying concern, disbelief and exhaustion. Gently ignored this and stayed staring after the prisoner; glad in his heart that he had at last been able to put that chapter of his life to rest.

It was late that evening – night had fallen across the town and most of its inhabitants were asleep. As a car drove past the Old Straw House the lights in its windows glared out and, from the sounds of music and raucous laughter coming from inside, it was clear that a party was in full swing. Suddenly the door opened and an inebriated Bacchus stumbled out. He shuffled to one side and put a hand in his pocket for his cigarettes. As he did so, he happened to glance into the street and saw a figure standing in front of the building. It was Gently.  
“What are you doing out here, sir?” he asked.  
“Not really my thing.” Gently replied, stoically. Bacchus paused. Then,  
“You didn’t expect to be here, guv, did you?” In answer, Gently simply shrugged. Bacchus headed over to him, drawing out his cigarettes from his pocket as he did so. He handed one to Gently and then leant back against the bonnet of a nearby car as he lit up. Gently followed suit.  
“So what was all that about, sir?” Bacchus asked, eventually, “Who’s Alan Croxley?” Gently sighed and then said, bluntly,  
“He killed my wife.”  
“No.” Bacchus said, taken aback, “No. Joe Webster killed your wife. We know that - we caught him.  
“Joe Webster was the fall guy.” Gently explained, “Croxley was the man behind the wheel. He’s the one, John. He’s the one that-" he hesitated, the tears welling up in his eyes, “that took Isabella from me.” He took another draw on his cigarette.  
“At least we got him, sir.”  
“Yeah,” Gently said, exhaling smoke, “We got him.”  
There was a pause as they both sat smoking in the darkness, their minds playing over recent events; neither sure of what to say. Finally Gently spoke,  
“You’re a good man, John – the city needs people like you. And Rachel.” Bacchus bowed his head, humbly. “It’s your time now – the New Age. Old coppers like me just get in the way.”  
“Oh, come on, sir.” Bacchus said.  
“No, no. It’s true.” Gently said, “We’ve done all we can – now it’s up to you.” He held out his hand. “Do your best, John.” Bacchus took it and shook it.  
“I will, sir.”  
Slowly, Gently stood up and began to walk away. Bacchus watched him go.  
“Sir!” Gently turned back, “Where will you go? What will you do?”  
“Ah” Gently replied, “You know me, John. I’ll be alright.” Bacchus nodded, softly. Gently turned away again.  
“Goodbye, John.” Gently said, over his shoulder.  
“Goodbye, George.” Bacchus replied, with a faint smile. Gently paused and turned back at this unfamiliar familiarity and then smiled and with a dismissive wave of his hand continued on his way.  
Bacchus watched as Gently walked slowly into the night - the darkness eventually enveloping him. At that moment, the door opened again and Rachel popped her head out.  
“Are you coming back in?” she asked.  
“Yeah.” Bacchus said, slowly; taking one last puff on his cigarette before crushing it out under his shoe. “Yeah.”  
“Any sign of Mr Gently?” Rachel said, as Bacchus headed back up towards her. Bacchus paused to look back in the direction the inspector had just gone and decided not to spoil the moment – he’d tell Rachel later.  
“Nah.” He said, gently. “I don’t think it’s really his thing.” He held the door open to allow Rachel to head back inside and then, with a last look at the empty street, followed her in - letting the door swung silently shut behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> I did consider including a moment when Gently’s hand tremors before he heads down onto the beach – highlighting his previous diagnosis of MS - but as the BBC didn’t mention it I decided against this.


End file.
